


Scars

by rebelmeg



Series: Rebelmeg's Bucky Barnes Bingo 2019 [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Friendship, Gen, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Panic Attacks, Scars, Stark Family, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22030339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelmeg/pseuds/rebelmeg
Summary: The road to recovery is long and hard, especially if the road behind you was a very dark one indeed.  Sometimes it's hard for Bucky to remember he's not alone, and that he's sharing his road with people that care about him.Written for my BBB square K4 - scars
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark
Series: Rebelmeg's Bucky Barnes Bingo 2019 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1448674
Comments: 28
Kudos: 86
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2019





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> The wonderful Nasha was my beta for this fic!

It was a bad day, the kind of bad day that made Bucky want to curl up in at least seven blankets and hide under his bed, so the world couldn’t find him and maybe even forgot about him. Every night was rough, but last night had been worse than usual, nothing felt right and the last thing he wanted to do was pretend he was fine.

He forced himself out of bed anyway, forced himself to clean up and get dressed, and if he happened to wear two long-sleeved shirts and a hoodie and a beanie on his head, it was nobody’s business but his.

The house he lived it was small, but he liked it that way. He had no idea how old it was, or who had lived in it before, but he didn’t care. His closest neighbor was half a mile away, and people rarely bothered him.

He was maybe halfway through his breakfast of toast and orange juice before his phone range, and he saw that it was his neighbor calling him. He answered.

“Hey, Tony.”

“Hey there, Zippy, you got some free time today? I had a theory bouncing around my head last night, and I finished my Pepper-mandated list of chores and alpaca-wrangling so I could come out and play.”

Yes, Tony Stark was his neighbor. His only neighbor, actually, since Bucky’s house actually sat on the five-square-mile plot of land that Tony had purchased along with the house he lived in with his family. After everything had happened, and the world started settling down again, Bucky had been at loose ends. He’d been thinking of places to go and what to do, when he’d become one of the few people let in on one hell of a secret: Tony Stark was still alive (the funeral had been for show, to make sure everyone believed it), and was offering Bucky a place to live.

He’d been so shocked, he’d accepted without thinking about it.

It had turned out… really well, though. Out of all the ways he might have pictured himself moving on with his life, he never would have guessed that he’d be living across the lake from Tony Stark, with a standing invitation to come to Sunday dinner. They were friends now, sort of, and wasn’t that just weird. Pepper always smiled when he came over, always invited him in, and Morgan had taken to calling him Uncle Bucky.

Not bad for a post-apocalyptic ex-assassin that had been brainwashed for seventy years.

“And you need me for it?” Bucky asked around a mouthful of toast, wondering what kind of craziness Tony had gotten into his head now.

“You’re the star of the show! You remember how you said it would be okay for me to get a scan of your arm sometime, to see how it works? I was wondering if I could do that today. You mentioned that it still aches sometimes, and I might have an idea about that.”

Oh. Wow, today of all days. “Does… it have to be today?” He tried not to sound as reluctant as he felt, keeping the fear and exhaustion and anger out of his voice that had nothing to do with the man on the other end of the phone.

Tony always seemed to hear what people didn’t say, however. “You okay? And no, of course it doesn’t have to be today. Doesn’t have to be ever. If you’re worried about it, it’s not a big deal.”

Bucky thought about it for a minute, staring down at his half-eaten toast, trying to ignore the way his stomach felt like it had turned to lead. “No. It’s okay. Let’s do it.”

He could feel the way Tony wanted to argue, could feel it as if the guy were standing in front of him, but he apparently changed his mind and there was a smile in his voice when he said, “It won’t hurt a bit, don’t worry. I don’t even have to touch you if you don't want, it’s just a scan that’ll give me all kinds of data and feedback so I can see how the arm works. You won’t even have to move it if you don’t want to, although that bit might be helpful.”

Tony chatted idly about something Morgan had said and what Gerald had gotten into this time while Bucky made himself finish his toast and juice, and then he hung up and made the now-familiar walk to the Stark house.

Tony waved at him from the door of the garage when he saw Bucky coming, gesturing for him to come inside. It was a place that Bucky found equal parts frightening and fascinating, despite the fact that he’d been in there several times. 

It reminded him in some ways of the Hydra labs that he’d been kept in and experimented on, cryogenically frozen over and over between missions. The places the Chair was kept, and where he’d have to sit through maintenance on his arm. The memories made him shudder, often gave him nightmares, and he generally tried not to think about them at all.

The atmosphere in Tony’s garage was completely different, though. Some kind of music was always playing, mostly classic rock that Bucky was coming to like, though it wasn’t unusual for a playlist of kids songs to start playing when Morgan came in. The bots roamed around freely, doing anything from fetching things for Tony, doing some kind of hazardous nonsense with a blender by the big utility sink, or even chasing balls around on the floor like they were big metal dogs playing catch. 

The lights were bright, the equipment was shiny and ridiculously futuristic, but it was tempered with the warm wood that made up the walls, and the spread of odd personal items that interrupted the mad scientist theme. At least three different coffee mugs were always spread around on the different stainless steel counters. Half an Iron Man suit was partially disassembled on one of the work tables and even spreading onto the floor, with a set of precision tools scattered next to it. A discarded hoodie lay over the back of a chair. A couple rubber stress balls were somehow sticking to the wall next to an AC/DC poster, and for some bizarre reason, a body pillow with a picture of a cartoon Hulk on it, saying “SNUG!” was sitting on the couch over in the corner.

If it was possible for a garage science lab to feel homey, this was as close as it got.

“Okay, go ahead and take your shirts off, if you would please, no that is not a come on, and you can stand wherever you want. I’ve got the whole room enabled for scans.”

Bucky had been starting to calm down a little, reaching for a tennis ball that one of the bots had nudged his way, but Tony’s words had him freezing up again. “What?”

“Yup, we’ll do this bit quick, and then I can see if my theory is right. Princess Shuri has been crazy-busy with all kinds of things since we got everyone back, so I didn’t wanna bug her for the schematics, even though she said she was fine with me seeing them. Figured this would be better anyway.”

Bucky could hear him, but he wasn’t listening. He’d gotten stuck on something, in his head, and couldn’t seem to move beyond it. He wasn’t aware that he was sliding into a panic attack until he felt Tony’s hand on his shoulder, then rubbing circles on his back.

“Okay, hold on, calm down. Deep breaths, you can do this. You’re gonna be fine in just a couple minutes, you just gotta get through this sucky part first. Deep breaths. You can do it.”

Tony talked him through it, helping him get his breathing under control, counting up and back from ten over and over until Bucky’s chest didn’t hurt anymore and he finally felt like he could breathe again.

“There you go. Like a champ. Better now?”

He nodded shakily, dragging his hair away from his face. “Sorry.”

“Nope, we don’t apologize for panic attacks in this house. Panic attacks are part of the family.”

“We’re not in the house.”

“How dare you use sarcasm with me, in my own garage. You rude, awful person.”

Bucky chuckled weakly, the banter coaxing him to smile, and a few more minutes passed as he continued to calm down.

“Is it the lab?” Tony asked finally, once Bucky was breathing normally again, heart no longer racing. “The scans? The bots? Tell me what it was, and I’ll fix it. I’ll make sure it doesn’t set you off again.”

“No, it was… it’s not that, it’s…” Why couldn’t he say it?

Tony didn’t seem to mind. “You don’t have to say if you don’t want to.”

He could do this. He could do this, he could say it, it was just so stupid, just—

“My scars.” He finally blurted out on a whooshed exhale. “I hate… my scars.”

“Your scars… from the arm?”

He nodded. “My shoulder, my back, my side, even—” he swallowed hard, “on my head. All over my head.”

Tony closed his eyes for a second. “To make sure you could control the arm.”

Bucky nodded shortly, just once.

Tony blew out a long breath and sighed. “Geez, I’m sorry, Bucky. I really am. I didn’t think.”

Bucky shook his head. “No, it’s… it’s my own hang up.”

“Which I could have been more sensitive about. Insensitivity is one of my core values, I’m working on it. Listen, c’mere, come sit down. You can hug the Hulk pillow if you want, it’s very therapeutic. Morgan sprayed it with her cotton candy perfume the other day, so it smells all nice and suffocatingly sweet now.”

Bucky couldn’t quite help but smile, just a little bit, as he sat down on the couch and took the long pillow Tony scooted his way. He didn’t quite hug it, but he did hold on to it. And he could _definitely_ smell the perfume, wow.

Tony sat down, like a normal person, but then did his Tony thing and scooted down so he was slouched and sprawled all over his side of the couch. Once he was comfy, he glanced up at Bucky with a look in his eye that was far too knowing.

“All of us have scars, y’know. You’re not alone there. You’re not unique in that way at all.”

“I know that.”

“Even Nat’s got scars, according to the rumor mill. A big one on her hip or something.”

“I gave her that scar,” Bucky said quietly, the memory still foggy, but there.

“Did you?” Tony sounded skeptical, and he raised an eyebrow. “Or did Hydra give it to her using your hands?”

If anyone else had said it, Bucky would have rolled his eyes. But coming from Tony, with the horrible history they had? It gave those words a worth and a weight that he couldn’t ignore.

“I just… hate what mine mean. What they remind me of. I hate that I’ll never forget it, that I’ll never be more than what they did to me.”

Tony looked at him for a minute, the gears obviously turning in his head, and then he got up and dragged a rolling chair over, positioning it in front of Bucky and sitting down.

“Look at my hands.” He held them out.

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “You have two of them.”

“Well-spotted, smart ass. Look closer.”

“Am I supposed to count your fingers?”

“I’m gonna smack you right upside the head.”

Bucky bit back a smile despite himself, and glanced at the hands Tony was holding out. “Still don’t have any idea what I’m doing here.”

“Maybe try counting the scars instead.”

With that guidance, he looked harder. And he started to spot them. On the right hand, it wasn’t a challenge at all. The entire hand was a mess of scar tissue from the radiation he’d been exposed to from the Infinity Stones, most of it still an angry pinkish-red that was going through the process of healing. Bucky knew it hurt him all the time, he took strong painkillers and rubbed several different kinds of salves and ointments onto the skin every day. It was getting better, but slowly.

On his left hand, the scars were harder to see, but they were still there. Little flat patches that were the leftovers of burn scars, and even a couple shiny new ones that hadn’t healed completely yet. A couple cuts, one that even had a bandaid covering most of it. There was a bruise under his thumbnail, and little puckered scars in several places. Thin lines or spots of old, white scar tissue marred every finger, and the back of his hand, not to mention the thick, rough callouses that showed how much work those hands had done.

“You’re seeing hands that used to see a manicurist at least once a week to keep them looking acceptable.” Tony said quietly, flipping them over so Bucky could see his palms, more scars and marks and callouses littering his skin. “The kind of obnoxious rich folk I had to associate with on a regular basis didn’t want to shake hands with someone who appeared to actually work for a living. I used to have to wear gloves when I worked on my cars, so I didn’t get engine grease on my hands. There isn’t enough lava soap in the world to save a habitual mechanic, and nobody at a fundraiser gala would want to shake hands with a greaser, no matter how much money he was worth.”

Bucky looked at him, wondering where Tony was going with this, wondering if he’d understand. Tony kept talking.

“My hands tell a story, if you look close enough. And here,” He tugged up his shirt and showed Bucky the scar on his left side. “I got that one from Thanos stabbing me with a shank made out of my own armor. And this one,” A circular scar on his chest, right next to his heart. “From the arc reactor. And these.” He gestured to the rest of the extensive scarring from the radiation burns that had nearly killed him. They went all the way up his arm, across his shoulder, his upper chest and back, down his side, and covered half of his face and head. “All these marks tell my story. Every scar has meaning, and even if those meanings have a lot of pain and bad memories behind them, you know what they mean to me?” 

Bucky shook his head.

“They mean I won. I came up against something that hurt me, some of them pretty badly, but I came out the other side still kicking. I won every battle that left a mark on me, because I’m still here.” 

Tony put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, the left one, the one that was half metal, half scarred flesh under his layers of shirts. And he looked him right in the eye. 

“The great part is? So are you. You won. You came out the other side of hell, and you’re still here. And you’ve got some pretty damn horrific demons in your past. Worse than anyone I know, and you lost every person that ever meant something to you. It’s not fair. And it sucks.”

It was the first time someone had actually… come out and said it. Acknowledged what he'd lost. Bucky blinked hard against the sudden tears in his eyes.

“But you also have a future in front of you that you can do _anything_ with.” Tony continued, his hand still gently squeezing Bucky’s shoulder. “You can make memories, the good kind, to make up for the bad ones. You have the freedom to make those decisions, and the right to do it. So go for it, Buckster. You grab your future with both those hands of yours, and you make something out of it. And don’t you ever be ashamed of the battle scars you earned along the way. You don’t have to show them off. And you don’t have to like them. But there is no shame in surviving.”

* * *

Bucky laid in bed that night, hands tucked behind his head as he stared at the dark ceiling above him. He’d already brushed his teeth, but he could still taste the garlic that had been in the chicken dish that Pepper had made for dinner. She’d read the recipe wrong (both she and Tony were _barely_ competent in the kitchen), putting in three entire heads of garlic into the sauce instead of three cloves. The chicken had been slightly burnt, and the steamed broccoli slightly underdone, but he’d taken home leftovers anyway, glad to have them. There was nothing wrong with the pasta, and he’d always liked garlic.

He also smelled faintly like cotton candy. Morgan, after learning that Bucky had smelled the perfume she’d sprayed on the Hulk pillow in the garage, had gone to grab the little plastic bottle and managed to nail him right in the face before anyone could stop her. He’d scrubbed off with a washcloth, twice, but he’d probably have to take a shower and wash his hair before it all came off.

Tony had taken the scans of his arm after their little heart-to-heart, all kinds of bio-readings and x-rays and mechanical readouts displaying on the holoscreen as he did. He’d stripped down to a tank top, most of his scars on display in solidarity so Bucky wouldn’t feel so exposed, and found another tank for Bucky to wear so he didn’t have to be shirtless. The shirt had been two sizes too small, clinging to him far too tightly, and Tony’s ridiculous chortling had set Bucky off too. 

He’d stayed for the day, tinkering on one of Tony’s cars that he still kept (he had a whole underground garage for them), and going out on the boat to see if the fishing was better on Tony’s side of the lake. And then going out again with Morgan when she got mad that he didn’t take her the first time. He chased Gerald out of the garden, and then out of the fruit bushes, and then had to go track down the chickens he’d scared off chasing Gerald out of the garden. 

He’d walked home just after the stars started to come out, having no trouble finding his way in the dark, but taking the pink flashlight Morgan offered him all the same. The leftovers went in the fridge, and the flashlight went in the bag on the back of his door so he’d remember to return it next time he went over. He’d whiled away the few hours until bedtime peeling and chopping up some vegetables for the stew he would make for dinner the next day, knitting a few more rows on a hat he was making for himself, and reading.

He’d probably have nightmares. He always did. He probably always would, no matter how much time passed. It was just part of the life he’d been dealt.

But as he rolled over and tugged a pillow closer, hugging it to his chest and closing his eyes sleepily, he felt himself smile, just a little.

Just because it was bad before, didn’t mean it couldn’t get lots, lots better.


End file.
